Chapter 102
For the past forty years, Albert and I have been the best of friends. To tell the truth, Albert was my only friend. As I lamented the murder of my friend, I vowed to revenge his murder and kill FBI agent Dennis Paterson. Now that my friend was dead, there was no need for fake alias. I could finally call him by his real name Robert Dubinsky.
Robert was more than just a bodyguard. Robert was a kindred soul who understood my feeling and embraced my plan for revenge. My friend has protected and nourished me through many near death experiences that I have faced in the past forty years.
The only solitude I had in Robert’s passing was that Jeff Anderson was now lamenting the murder of his one true love, Penelope Baggins. A smiled adorned my face as I recalled how Robert brutally murdered the senator’s girlfriend. I was suddenly animated as I pondered the bitterness and torment that must have inflicted Jeff Anderson’s souls as he watched Robert murder this one true love. Unfortunately the senator escaped my wrath again. My soul yearned for the chance to kill my old friend for his treachery.
My mind drifted back to the day that Mr. Dubinsky and I first meet. We weren’t friend at first, we were mortal enemies during the last world war. It was June 6, 1944 when we first meet. I was slowly bleeding to death when I was abruptly confronted by a seriously injured German soldier named Robert Dubinsky. Neither of us was armed, but we were both scared. Although we were enemies, I helped the injured German soldier into a chair and covered him with a blanket. I grabbed a medical bag from one of the American soldiers and attended to Dubinsky’s injures.
After I patched Robert’s wounds, I attended to my own wounds the best I could. Soon a man in a black robe appeared and said in a heavy French ascent,“I am here to help.”
“Wait,” I screamed, “the German soldier needs more help than me.”
The Frenchman was part of the French resistance and refused to help the German soldier.
“Place your left arm around me soldier,” The Frenchman requested as he tried to help me to a nearby truck.
“No, wait,” I asserted again.
The Frenchman turned to face me, “Why are you trying to save him? He wouldn’t try to save you.”
It was then I noticed the Frenchmen’s white collar and finally realized he was a priest.
“Father, you of all people should help everyone no matter what country they come from.”
The priest was stunned with disbelief; he paused then turned to look upon the injured German soldier, “Okay, I promise I will come back for him.”
The priest carried me to a nearby milk truck and placed me carefully into the back of the truck. “I shall return,” The priest promised. The priest was a man of his honor and took Dubinsky and myself to his church in the village of Sainte-Mère-Église, France. The priest name was Gregory Thomas Mansion. The priest and a nun attended to our medical and spiritual needs in our time of sorrow and anguish.
As the next few day passed on, Dubinsky and I cared for each other’s metal and physical wounds. Dubinsky and I were once bitter enemies, but we soon became the best for friends. To conceal are true identity Robert took the alias Albert Kandinsky and I took the Spanish name for Mars, Martinez. Together Robert and I formed an alliance and contrived a plan to murder my old friend Sergeant major Jefferson Anderson.